


Reading Lessons

by RiverDeNile



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Banter, Books, Coffee, First Kiss, Flirting, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8964739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverDeNile/pseuds/RiverDeNile
Summary: I have the entire compendium of Wolfram & Hart’s knowledge at the tips of my fingers. I have only to open the sole manuscript kept in my office and request the knowledge, and it appears to me. With only a word, I can access the rarest, most elusive texts in a matter of seconds, in any number of languages, translations, and editions.I forget that Charles Gunn can read me as easily as I can read that manuscript.





	

I have the entire compendium of Wolfram & Hart’s knowledge at the tips of my fingers. I have only to open the sole manuscript kept in my office and request the knowledge, and it appears to me. The manuscript rests on an ornamental stand, and I keep it three steps from my chair, six steps from the office door, and two steps from the south-facing windows. Above it, recessed within the ceiling, is a spotlight that reacts to my presence. The manuscript is always illuminated in a pale pink light because that is the most comfortable light for long-term reading. With only a word, I can access the rarest, most elusive texts in a matter of seconds, in any number of languages, translations, and editions.

My father and by extension the entire Watcher’s Council would wet themselves to simply be in the proximity of such a manuscript.  


I’ve grown accustomed to it.

* * *

I forget, from time to time, that Charles Gunn can read me as easily as I can read that manuscript, and that I cannot read him at all. That is precisely why I hadn’t expected him to drop in on me without notice that Saturday morning and pull me from my seclusion and out into the sleepy world of pre-coffee Los Angeles. Few were in the office at that hour of the morning and I was taking the liberty of reading over a text on the various forms of Qeltha demons, as a semi-nomadic band of them had recently settled in Los Angeles for the fire season. From what I had read so far, they were shy and reclusive, unless confronted, when they would attack, much like skunks, with a rather viciously scented spray. Should there be any trouble which arose during their stay, it would be quite easy to defend them in court due to their inherently passive nature. Even as I read, I thought Gunn would be disappointed. He prefers the cases which require him to make use of that massive compilation of legal knowledge stored within his brain. The setting and props may have changed, but Gunn would always be a showman.

I was standing before the manuscript, staring out at the window, and thinking of Gunn’s  _ joie-de-vivre _ , when the man himself cleared his throat behind me and asked, “Hot date last night?”

He knows as well as I do that I haven’t had anything close to resembling a date, hot or otherwise, since I sliced the head off my last girlfriend, and so I ignore his question. I just turn and tip my head, silently inviting him into the office. He isn’t wearing one of his silk suits today, instead he wears dark jeans and a cream-coloured T-shirt that must be a size too small for him, the way it stretches across his torso. He has his wide grin spread across his face, the one which never appears in court but seems to be drawn from my presence, and he shakes his head a little and says, “Uh uh. You’re coming with me this time, English.”

“But I…” I begin and look back at the text.

“Don’t even think about it. The…” He takes the six steps and leans over my shoulder to glance at the page. He smells of something subtle, like cedar smoke, I believe. “The Qeltha demons? What the hell do you need to know about them? They eat bugs. And berries. The only time Wolfram & Hart’s had to deal with them was a hundred years ago when a group of teenaged Qelthas broke into a strawberry field and cleared the whole thing out. A dog got sprayed nasty in the face and the farmer had to put him down, and Wolfram & Hart compensated the man with a wad of cash and brand-new puppy. Didn’t make or break any laws for that one. So come on, English. I’m getting you out of the office.”

I let him steer me to the elevators, his large hand between my shoulder blades, and I pause only to grab my jacket and sling it over the crook of my arm. We manage to do a quick little waltz in the lobby in order to avoid an overloaded Harmony who smiles wide at us and offers us two of the coffees from the top of the pile. Gunn takes one but I decline. They told me that within a year of arriving in America I would be drinking coffee regularly, but that has yet to happen, thankfully.

The elevator doors slide open, a bluish blob-like creature emerges with a high-pitched sound I take for either a hello or a curse, and Gunn and I tiptoe around the trail of goo left behind, which puts us in separate corners of the elevator. He grins at me again and comments, “Smells like Teen Spirit in here.” And I have to agree. The puddle of goo makes the small space smell acrid, like a high school locker room after a particularly rowdy game of American football. I say as much and Gunn lifts one eyebrow.

“What? That doesn’t turn you on?”

Sometimes, there’s no talking to the man.

* * *

Los Angeles in the early morning is another world entirely. This is a city which never sleeps, much like all large, sprawling American cities, and that takes on a new meaning entirely when one keeps in mind the wide variety of demons who claim those cities as residence. But there is a slow period during the early morning which stretches from an hour before sunrise until the beginnings of the morning rush to work. It lasts two, three hours at most, but it is lovely. Empty streets, empty sidewalks, sleeping buildings… No lines at Starbucks, which is where the navy blue company car leaves us… our first stop, despite Gunn already having had two cups that morning. But I don’t mind. My reluctance to frequent American locust chains has greatly diminished since I began working at Wolfram & Hart. I have never been a fan of hypocrisy.

Plus, I’ve grown quite fond of their Chai Tea. Despite the absurd name. Only Americans, I like to think to myself, though I rarely say it aloud since Gunn tends to take that as an invitation mock British cuisine. Which, I have to admit, leaves itself far too open for that sort of ridicule.

Either way, he has a coffee concoction of some complicated variety and I have my Tea Tea, and I still have no idea where he’s taking me.

He smiles at me and shakes his head. “You’ll know when we get there. What? You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I reply quickly enough to stun even myself. He glances at me and then looks away again. Brings the steaming cup of coffee to his mouth and inhales, but doesn’t drink. It’s still far too hot to drink. This I know because I have just burned my lips. And he’s laughing at me without laughing at me. I can tell from the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

Perhaps I can read him, a little. Like reading a text in an unknown language. From time to time, you see a familiar word, but it doesn’t mean you can understand the whole text. There are parts of Gunn I understand. His grin, his casual posture, his bravery, his loyalty. There are parts I may never understand, like what he sees in me. It is an unlikely friendship, to be sure. Not that I can complain at all. Without him, I’m sure I’d fall headfirst into my own mind and never return. He grounds me, but I can’t understand what he gets from me. Amusement, perhaps. He does like to laugh at me. Or with me, as he is quick to correct. He keeps me humble, certainly.        


“It must be close, if we’re walking.”

He darts another sly look my way. “Trying to piece the puzzle together, Sherlock? Be my guest.”

I look around us, considering the area, but that does me very little good either. The city, the above-ground city, is like Gunn. Unreadable by me, especially by daylight. I resign myself to following Gunn and leaving the details of our excursion to him.

“Give up, huh? Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He shrugged and finally takes a sip of the coffee. I do the same to my tea, though my tongue is still rather scorched, giving the tea a numb flavour. “I know you, English. You’ll like it. You don’t know it yet, but you will.”

I was beginning to feel mildly concerned now. I didn’t know it yet, but I would like it? He wasn’t going to take me to a tattoo parlour or a bungee-jumping platform, was he?

He laughs. “Bungee-jumping? Where do you get these ideas? Do I look like the bungee-jumping type, to begin with? Hell no. The whole idea of wrapping rubber bands around my ankles and jumping off a bridge is just plain stupid. If I wanted to die stupidly, I’d go unarmed into a vampire nest. Do you see me going doing that? No.”

I notice he didn’t say anything about the tattoo parlour.

He grins quickly at me and shakes his head. “Much fun as that would be, gotta say no on that guess too. Though, you’re giving me ideas for the future. You could get the Union Jack on your ass. Or maybe the Queen’s face. One on each cheek?”

How does he manage that? Make me laugh. He’s one of the few who’s always had the talent for bringing it out of me.

“And you? If you were to get a tattoo?”

“Ah!” He grins again and then quirks an eyebrow at me. “Who’s to say I don’t already have one?”

And then he laughs at me, no doubt because he can see that I’m suddenly wondering. I’d never seen one on him and I’d seen him in remarkably little clothing. I can’t help but look him up and down and consider the areas I hadn’t already viewed.

“English! You’re going to make me blush.” But that isn’t the voice of a man who’s blushing. “I’m afraid any and all tattoos that are or might be on this body are for me to know and you to think about. Preferably at length. While in the b _ ah _ th,” he says this word with a long, English vowel, drawing out the sound so my attention cannot help but be drawn to it, and then he laughs again. “There’s that British blush I was looking for.”

He can make me laugh and he can make me blush. And some days I don’t believe I have either left in me. I dated Lilah, for God’s sake. I’ve had my throat slit. And Charles Gunn can make me blush like the bumbling young Watcher I was only… how long has it been? Five years? Seven? Long enough for a Watcher to fall. But Gunn, he won’t leave me there on the floor. Perhaps because he, himself, has been there as well. 

“Don’t get too deep in there. This is a happy field trip. No brooding on the schedule. That’s why Angel wasn’t invited.”

He startles a grin out of me and he smiles back. “Good start. Now, let’s get you laughing again. Nothing I like better than a smiling Wesley.”

Which brings a genuine smile out of me as I look at him, and he looks back, his own smile fading off his face. He nods seriously. “You gotta smile more, Wes. It looks good on you.”

My throat is tight for a moment and I have to look away. We’ve reached a part of the city which is completely unknown to me. I frown and turn my head to look around. “Where are we going, Gunn?”

He shrugs again. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll like it.”  


“You keep saying that, and yet, I’m still curious.”

“Of course you are. You’re just like me, aren’t you? Alpha wolf. Gotta know everything all the time, gotta have a handle on things. Nobody would think it to look at you, but that’s exactly what you are. Sometimes I wonder. Three alphas in a pack doesn’t generally make for good times.”

“Me? An alpha wolf? You’re joking.”

“Not even a little bit, Wes. You’re all about having your way.” He looks at me slyly. “Your wicked, wicked way.” I blush again and he laughs. “Seriously though, there are alphas and there are betas, tops and bottoms some people call them, and  _ you _ , Wes, are a top. All the way.”

I can only imagine what flashes over my face just then because Gunn clears his throat and looks away. I narrow my eyes at his face and look closer and yes. I’ve managed the impossible.

“You’re blushing, Gunn.”

“Am not.”

I grin widely. “Yes, you are. What about, I wonder? Do tell.”

“Do tell? Sometimes, English, I start to wonder if you’ve got a giant silver spoon stuck up your ass.” 

“That would make me a bottom, now wouldn’t it?”

He blushes again and runs a hand over his face. “Shit, English. Two for you. See? This is what I’m talking about. Alpha wolf.”

I shrug and look away, taking another sip of my spiced tea. “I’ve never much cared for those particular labels. They don’t allow for a certain degree of… flexibility,” I say, and then grin.

* * *

Gunn stops walking. “Here we are.”

I look over and he’s brought me to a shop. A book shop. It had a painted blue face and a large window and no sign above the door, and inside I can see many, many impossibly tall bookshelves which are positively  _ lined _ with books.

“A book shop?”

He smiles mysteriously and holds the door for me.

It smells heavenly. I’ve almost forgotten the smell of old, leather-bound books. And not just the musky leather smell, but the smell of dust, of yellowing paper, of old ink and cracking glue. It smells… I walk forward almost blind and pull a book from the shelf at random. I crack it and the smell clouds my senses. How had I forgotten? I let my eyes scan over the text of the book almost as an afterthought, but then I can’t look away. I look up from that book and look at the rest of them. My hand goes out of its own accord and my fingers trail over the titles, trail over the spines, pulling them from their places, like a man rediscovering old lovers. I have been monogamously attached to that one manuscript in my office for far too long. I’d forgotten the appeal of the search and discovery. With Wolfram & Hart’s entire library at my fingertips, I’d forgotten how much I have loved the mystery. It had been frustrating, I can’t lie, but  _ finding it _ … My god, it could be as satisfying as the best of orgasms.

I look up and find Gunn watching me, a fond little smile on his lips. He meets my eyes and says, softly, “Told you you’d like it.”

I look at him, look at the smile on his lips, the affection in his eyes, the curve of his jaw, the smoothness of his brow. The delicateness of his throat down to the hollow and fan of his breastbone. My eyes pull upward again and he’s breathing deeply now, his mouth slightly parted, his nostrils flaring with each exhale. His eyes are watching me. I have a handful of antique books, and each no doubt have a price tag in the thousands, but I drop them to my feet and take a step forward. Gunn sucks in a breath and licks his lips and I do the same.

“You read me so well, Charles, like a well-worn novel, but I have never been able to decipher you. Tell me. Have I translated this properly, or am I wrong?”

“Not wrong,” he says in a breath. “I’m in plain fucking English here, Wes.”  


I smile and step right up to him and duck my head into his neck, taking in a deep inhale of his scent. Smoke and cedar, I wonder briefly if it’s a cologne or an after-effect from a ceremony he had to take part in the previous night. He tenses against me, and more so when I press my teeth lightly against the tense curve of his neck.

“Fuck, Wesley,” he breaths into my hair as he tilts his neck to give me better access and I grin. 

I tilt up my chin until my lips touch his ear and whisper, “So, where was that tattoo?”

A quick, startled laugh escapes him and his arms come around me and hold me tight. He buries his face in my neck and laughs. “I’m gonna have my hands full with you, English, I can tell,” he says when he brings up his head again and he looks me in the eye.

“Yes. You are,” I tell him and then kiss him like I’ve been meaning to for some time. He tilts his head again and opens to me and it’s everything I’d ever imagined but more, hot and wet and sharp, and we battle for it. My hand is on his head, forcing him deeper, and his hands are around my back, one against my spine, the other firmly attached to my left buttock, and we are in plain sight of that front window.

Neither of us seems to care.

That is, until the kindly shopkeeper clears his throat and catches my attention.

I disengage myself from Gunn and run my fingers over my mouth. The shopkeeper, a diminutive old man with a cloud of fine, white hair about his head, raises his shaggy eyebrows and looks pointedly down at the careless pile of books I’ve dropped to the floor.

“I’ll just ring those up for you, then?” He says in a surprisingly low voice, with only the slightest trace of a sibilant hiss. It isn’t a question, not even a suggestion, that I can tell immediately. I lick my lips, doing my best to ignore Gunn who looks like he’s choking on his laughter, and I nod.

“Ah, yes. Please. Thank you.”

The shopkeeper bends and collects the books one by one. “Ah, very good choices. This one,” he holds up one bound in green leather with gilded lettering down the side, “is rare.” He straightens and smiles, showing two rows of pointed teeth, “In this dimension, at least.”

In other words, very, very expensive. I hold out my hand and take it from him, tipping it so I can read the title. Gunn sees my expression and leans over and then laughs.

_ The Gentle Qeltha: Care and Feeding of Your New Pet _

“ _ You _ ,” I threaten him with the corner of the book. “You owe me for this.”

He wipes laughter tears from his eyes and grins. “Trade you for some tattoos?”

I narrow my eyes at him and then hand the book back to the shopkeeper. I keep my eyes on Gunn and say, “I’ll take them.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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